


That’s The Way

by softpages (orphan_account)



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Short & Sweet, Songfic, Songwriting, written on a whim listening to lz III
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 03:54:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18865174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/softpages
Summary: Robert didn’t think many people came out to this area.





	That’s The Way

A gloomy night in Wales. A shitty time to be out in the cold, the impending storm.

 

Yet Robert still makes his way through the trees, the bushes, looking for the river he finds solitude in.

 

The wind doesn’t bother him. Rather, he stands wearing a barely-opaque cardigan just tied around his waist. He listens to the shuffle of the leaves, the patter of his boots against the damp grass.

 

Not many people live out in this area of Wales. Robert doesn’t see many pass by. He found this little river abandoned, and it usually stays that way whenever he goes in search of it’s peace once more.

 

Yet as he reaches closer, on a path filled with wilting flowers pathetically trying to grow, he hears a soft trail of guitar. With each step, he hears a low hum. A hum that is simply swallowed up by the winds, yet standing out all the same among just two people.

 

Reaching the opening, he sees a man sitting in the grass on a blanket. His back is turned, but Robert watches the sway of black curls, watches the flex of shoulder blades as the man’s fingers dance across the fretboard on a beige Martin.

 

Robert didn’t think many people came out to this area. Nevermind this river, which he had thought he claimed his own.

 

Though, he can’t find it in him to mind. Company is a gift, right? Better than being overrun with his thoughts. He could use company during times like this. So he stands a few moments more, relishing in the gentle melody. It was only a few simple chords, a barely-there vocal structure in the man’s humming.

 

Potential.

 

“Mind if I sit?”

 

The man’s playing dies out as he jumps and slowly turns his head towards Robert. His face was soft, youthful. A small button nose, a little red from the cold, with gentle eyes and parted, plush lips. His curls obscured half of his face, one just below his nose moving with his breath.

 

 _Mesmerizing_.

 

“Didn’t think many people came out here,” the man says, tease evident in his tone of voice as he shuffles over on the blanket to beckon Robert over. His voice was soft, almost too quiet. Just barely loud enough over the waves.

 

“I could say the same thing, I thought I was the only person who came out here,” Robert laughs quietly as he sits. His knee clacks against the man’s, and warmth instantly sinks through his jeans.

 

The man hums, before beginning to strum once more. Robert simply watches the waves rush over one another, watches the man’s fingers dance once more through his peripherals.

 

He quickly picks up the man’s humming pattern, adding a high to the bassy tone of his soft voice.

 

 _That’s_ _the_ _way_ ,

 _That’s_ _the_ _way_ _it_ _ought_ _to_ _be_.

 

Robert adds improvised lyrics to the humming, though incomplete. The man smiles at him, he turns to meet the crinkled eyes, the glint of teeth over the parting of his lips.

 

 _And_ _so_ _I_ _say_ _to_ _you_ _that_ _nothing_ _really_ _matters_ ,

 _And_ _all_ _you_ _do_ _is_ _stand_ _and_ _cry._

 

Robert adds in tapping of his fingers against his jean clad legs.

 

The man seems to have this song completely finished, riff wise. He lets the notes die out into the night air, and they both sit in silence for a couple moments. Body heat shared between them, whether it be the knees against eachother, or the clack of elbows as the man slides his fingers to rest over the body of the Martin.

 

“Page. Jimmy Page,” the man finally says, looking over to Robert once more.

 

Robert turns and meets his eyes. Eyes nearly as deep as the waters before them, as green as the grass beneath them.

 

“Robert Plant.”

 

“I’ll see you again, won’t I?” Jimmy asks, eyes showing a sparkle of doubt for the faintest of moments.

 

Robert rises to his feet, reaching out for one of Jimmy’s hands. He clasps nimble fingers, holds them as if he could break them.

 

“Of course you will. With time, with fate. Keep playing, and I’ll come wherever you lead me.”


End file.
